


Marry Me Already

by bella_my_clarke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, black!Hermione, canon romione, post-canon harry potter, proposal fic, romione, ron's terrible at proposing, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron's got the ring, the plan, and the determination to marry Hermione Granger. Now would the universe PLEASE just let a proposal go right for him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marry Me Already

Ron used to think defeating Voldemort was the hardest thing he’d ever took part in. The constant terror, not knowing if he would survive to the next day, suffering grueling tasks, investigations, and battles…it had certainly given him and his friends a run for their money. Now, he saw it as rather simple, compared to the massive, overwhelming, death-defying stunt he was preparing himself for:

Proposing to Hermione Granger.

He had conferred with everyone possible for ideas (except George, who he knew without asking would have nothing helpful), but of course got little out of it. Ginny had nothing but teasing for him, Harry was as hopeless as he was, and Bill just said the proposal didn’t matter as long as their wedding didn’t go down in flames. (Hardy har har, Bill.) Eventually he had just sat down and sorted out ideas until he found a good one—this idea, the one he was currently planning out.

It was simple. Or, supposed to be. Invite Hermione over, beautify the entrance with balloons and flowers and magic, surprise her when she got inside, propose, make the kiss a good one when – if – she said yes. Simple. Of course, he hadn’t gotten to anything but the first step yet, which wasn’t good, considering she would arrive in maybe ten minutes, but at least it wasn’t his fault; work had come up. (Well, it probably _was_ his fault he spent twenty minutes pacing and another twenty worrying, but never mind that.) Now he was scrambling, even with most of his family on the job with him.

“Mum, no, the _entrance,_ ” he moaned when he found Molly sending the brooms to work in the kitchen.

“This room is an absolute mess, Ronald,” she prattled. “It needs to be clean before Hermione gets here.”

“She won’t even _see_ the kitchen, Mum,” he argued, feeling about ten years old again. “Now go help the others; she could be here any moment.”

Still grumbling, his mum brushed past him into the main entrance with her cleaning supplies in tow, where the rest of the family plus Harry were attempting to enchant hanging lights and blow up balloons. To be perfectly honest, it was a mess—worse than when they’d started, which was saying something.

Ron, of course, did not say this aloud.

“Harry, can you please clean up that area? She’ll be standing right there. Fleur, that looks lovely, but could you move it a little to the left? Dad, you’re supposed to be helping, not sitting. George, please— _what are you doing?_ ”

“It’s not exciting enough,” his brother said, shrugging. “How do you expect Hermione to say yes if she doesn’t get a grand entrance?”

“Maybe because she wants to marry me?” Ron suggested, raising his eyebrows.

“Good luck with that one, mate!” George said, laughing, and continued to add flashy – and rather dangerous-looking – additions to the already chaotic scene.

It was at that moment the doorbell rang.

Silence fell over the group like a slap, and it wasn’t until the doorbell rang again, more insistently, when Ron mumbled, “I’ll get it.”

He opened the door a crack, just enough to shove his head through the opening, and saw Hermione standing there. She looked (rather unfairly) gorgeous, as usual, and she wasn’t even dressed up. She had chosen a simple jeans and t-shirt combo, and her bushy dark hair hung in a dramatic fashion around her head. Most notably, she had a bright, albeit tired, smile crossing her face. “Hi, Ron.”

“Hey, Hermione,” he replied, his mouth suddenly dry. His thoughts whirled to the mess behind him, and he wondered if he could really propose to Hermione in such chaos. “Um, fancy seeing you here.”

“You do remember you invited me, right?” she asked, seeming to be only half teasing.

“Of course, of course, just…making conversation,” he said, opening the door slightly more. “Sorry, it’s a complete mess in here.”

“You act as if I care,” she laughed, brushing past him and walking inside. He followed her in, feeling rather like a dog with his tail between his legs, and was met with a number of slacked jaws and deer-in-headlights expressions from his family. They looked almost comical; under different circumstances he might’ve laughed.

“Um, hello, everyone,” Hermione said awkwardly, glancing around the room. Ron followed her gaze to see hastily enchanted balloons whirling around the room with a hissing noise yet not running out of air, lights once hanging gracefully burning out and floating up to the ceiling, out of reach, and the strange sparks George had lit flickering dangerously.

No one moved for a moment; at least, not until one of the sparks caught George’s hair on fire and he slapped it out hurriedly with his hands. “Uh, hey, ‘Mione,” the boy said, and even he sounded uncomfortable.

Ron swallowed hard. There was no way he was saving this now. “I’m sorry about the mess, Hermione. Maybe it’s just best if you just....”

“Ron, I’m _fine,_ ” she said, squeezing his hand briefly as if sensing his discomfort. “I’ve seen your house in much worse states of disarray before; I’ll just help clean up.”

Every Weasley (and Harry, poor chap) turned as red as their hair at that, but reluctantly they agreed. The next twenty minutes were spent taking down lights, picking up random bits of strewn party decorations, sweeping the floor, and dispersing George’s sparks before they set anyone else on fire (which they succeeded in…mostly).

Once the house was once again to its former glory – even the kitchen, which Mum worked diligently on – everyone dispersed; they all realized there would be no exciting proposal at the moment, and with that knowledge there was little reason to hang around. The only people left were, of course, Ron and Hermione.

He sat on the couch and, almost reflexively, Hermione curled up next to him, her head against his chest and her knees tucked up by his thigh. He put his arm around her and drew circles on her forearm absently, thinking about how differently the day could’ve gone.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked, leaning her head back to look at him.

“Fine,” he said vaguely, kissing her forehead to reassure her.

Hermione frowned, skeptical as always, but didn’t press the subject. She took his free hand in her own and traced the lines in his palm gently. This was something she did often when she was thinking, but it still left warm tingles of sensation on his skin wherever she touched. She then interlocked their fingers and sidled closer to him. “Did you want to do anything special today?”

Ron hesitated. If he so desired, he could just propose to her now; the ring was still in his pocket.

“No, Hermione,” he said at last. “Nothing at all.”

-

The Incident left Ron put out for a few days, but didn’t discourage him completely. He still had the ring, and he was still going to use it. His plan this time was much simpler than before, to combat his previous glitches—he and Hermione were going on a scenic walk, and when they reached a little overlook at the end of the trail, he would just get down and ask her. Simple, thoughtful, effective, foolproof.

He hoped.

Hermione walked on his right, her hand entangled with his. He could feel the empty space on her ring finger where a metal band could soon rest. The thought made him warm, not to mention overly aware of the lump in his jacket pocket.

“What’s that grin for?” Hermione asked, bumping into him playfully.

He glanced over at her. A soft smile was spread across her features, one that touched the corner of her eyes but revealed no teeth. Sunlight reflected off her eyes like it was stained glass, creating the illusion of a kaleidoscope, and there was a gleam to her skin that made it seem almost liquid, like molten chocolate molded into a person. “Just glad to be with you,” he said after a while, smiling absently now.

She was looking back, and her whole demeanor seemed to soften. Slowly, she lifted up towards him, and in a few moments their lips were touching. Ron smiled into the kiss and held her cheek in his hand, still amazed after all their time together that they could just do this whenever they wanted.

A few seconds later, she pulled back and put her hand on his chest, half-laughing. “Someone’s going to see us.”

“So?” he teased.

“ _So,_ didn’t you say you wanted to show me a pretty view at the end of this walk before the crowds got there?” she reminded him.

The ring suddenly felt like an anchor in his pocket, and Ron wondered if she could feel his breathing quicken under her fingertips. “Uh…yes. I did.”

“Well, let’s get going then,” she said, patting his cheek, and they did.

Hermione’s accidental reminder of his imposing question sent Ron’s brain buzzing. Had he washed up well enough beforehand? Would it matter after this long hike? Maybe he should’ve popped the question at the trailhead instead, even if it was less picturesque. He was also worried Hermione would suspect something before they got there; his hands felt unusually clammy and she could probably hear (or maybe even see) his heart beating wildly. And what if she got curious about the lump in his pocket?

Before he felt at all ready, they arrived at the spot. It was rather beautiful, if nothing else—a small bench overlooked a huge expanse of green with cottages speckled in the mix, and in the distance a glittering lake sparkled majestically. A perfect spot for a proposal.

Now he just needed the proposal part.

Awkwardly, he sat down with Hermione, who seemed completely oblivious to the tension hanging over him like some dark spell. She rested her head on his shoulder and said quietly, “This is beautiful, Ron.”

“Not as beautiful as a certain someone,” he said, smirking as he nudged her. He could feel her roll her eyes – he used that line all the time – but she couldn’t hide that she was pleased as well.

“Will you ever come up with new lines?” she asked him.

Ron gasped mockingly. “How dare you suggest such a concept.”

“Oh, whatever, you nerd,” she said, snuggling closer.

He bit back a comment like _you’re calling me nerd?_ but only because he knew he couldn’t stall the moment any longer. He had to ask Hermione now, before something went wrong.

“Hermione,” he said, taking just one more moment to prepare himself. “I need to ask you something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He swallowed, fumbled in his pocket. “I....”

Before he could say anything else, something – of course – went wrong.

Hermione let out a gasp and jumped to her feet. Ron glanced up and, seeing she was pulling out her wand, realized it had to be something important. You didn’t just whip out your wand in a public place just because. He let go of the ring box and grabbed his own wand, moving to stand beside her. “What is it?”

She didn’t say anything; she just sprinted off down the slope towards some ruckus in the distance. Sighing, Ron went after her, the weight in his pocket almost mocking him.

_Foolproof, huh?_

-

After that, Ron made it a habit to carry around the ring everywhere, just in case he wanted to propose. And oh, did he try. A lot. He tried at a dinner, but Hermione started feeling sick before he had the chance to surprise her. When Ginny’s birthday came around and he tried, Hermione had to work and couldn’t make it. Once he even tried to do it in the middle of a conversation, but six other people had picked that exact moment to burst in. Time and time again he was foiled; he wondered if there was some magical presence, a ghost or something, that was determined to ruin his life with Hermione before it even began.

The result of this endless fiasco was that Ron was almost always irritable with everyone, even his would-be fiancée, and this was exactly how he felt when Hermione came over for dinner one evening. She greeted him warmly, but he barely managed a gruff hello as she came inside. Dinner was already prepared, so they sat down, but despite how delicious it smelled and looked, somehow it all tasted bland to Ron. That and the gnawing in his stomach that had been growing for weeks now (ever since he first failed to propose) combined to make him not very nice to sit next to, and unfortunately it was Hermione who had that job. When she asked him to pass over some food, he snapped out that she could just magic it over, and even after mumbling an apology felt everyone’s eyes accusingly on him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t feel bad about being rude; he just couldn’t shake his bad mood. He could’ve been _married_ to Hermione by now, but rotten luck was holding him back.

After everyone had finished their meals, Molly stood up abruptly. “Thank you for coming, everyone,” she said (by everyone she meant the family plus Harry, who was essentially family anyway, especially with how things between him and Ginny were going). “Don’t bother with your plates now, dearies; I think Ron and Hermione can handle them just fine.”

Hermione blinked, looking up from her plate. “What?”

She looked over the two of them with that usual maternal gaze, though Ron felt there was a bit of a scathing edge to the glance she gave him. “It might be best if you two hash out some things over cleaning, yes?” It was phrased like a question, but her tone said clearly it was an order, so Ron and Hermione picked everyone’s plates and brought them to the kitchen to wash.

“I really don’t mind, Ron,” Hermione said after he found some manners and apologized about the situation his mum had dragged her into. “You forget I did this all the time before Hogwarts. Quite enjoyed it, actually; washing clears my mind, somehow.”

Ron couldn’t quite say the same; the soap and grime only seemed to remind him of how much clutter there was stuffed in his brain. At the front, of course, was the impending question he’d been carrying around (literally) for weeks, and before he was even thinking about what he was doing, he blurted, “Will you marry me?”

Hermione dropped her plate into the sink and blinked. “Yes.”

Ron stared for a moment. “Are you sure?” _Are you sure?_ his mind screamed at him. _You blithering idiot! Hermione finally agrees to marry you and all you can say is ‘are you sure’? Are you mad?_ But words kept tumbling out of his mouth. “Because, I mean, I didn’t plan on asking you like this; it was going to be pretty and special and nice, but when I tried that it all ended up in tatters and you ended up cleaning it, of all things. Then on that bench I was so close and then we had to run off saving some idiots down the hillside, then you got sick, then we kept having conflicted schedules, and then....”

He didn’t get another word out, because by then Hermione had grabbed his face and pressed her mouth to his. Any train of thought he might’ve salvaged before dissipated instantly, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her hands were cold and wet and soapy, but he didn’t care; she was like sunshine under his touch, and it was reaching noonday.

Finally, Hermione disengaged, albeit reluctantly. She was grinning madly, and he knew he was, too, but it was the good sort of mad. “We’re getting married,” she said, like she was still trying to believe it.

“We’re getting married,” he agreed, and all he could think was _finally._ Then, fumbling, he reached for the ring in his pocket (thank goodness he still carried the blasted thing around with him) and pulled it out. It wasn’t particularly fancy at all; he hadn’t the money for something expensive (Harry had offered to pitch in to buy it, but he had stoutly refused; after all, it was _his_ wedding, and he had to earn it). It didn’t even have a stone on it. Instead, it was a simple circle with tiny designs etched into the metal.

“Ron,” she said, reaching out to touch it. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said, unable to resist the chance, and as she laughed, he slipped it on her finger. Mercifully, it fit. She held it up and looked at it, eyes wide and awed, then she threw her arms around him again in a giddy hug. He clung to her tightly, half burying his face in her mane of hair, and breathed out in relief.

"All according to plan," he mumbled, and she just laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr, come cry with me :)


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